​Letter 38:
Dear Stella

Dear Stella,

You are still speaking. You are speaking through both visual prose and visual poetry. You are speaking quietly yet are speaking with much force. Yes, you are still speaking. You are conversing with those from a wide range of places. Stella, you are still speaking.

Nuanced emotion is evident. Nuanced color is evident. You are evident. Your library shelves speak a nuanced language. Your small pieces speak with much largesse. Your colors are your words. Your castings are your essays. Are they your mysteries? Are they of the theater? They are still speaking. They are still singing. They speak of family—the family of abstraction. The family of thought made physical. The family of surface as a film of consciousness. Yes, Stella, we are of the same family.

A casting may be a portrait. A casting may be of natural history. A casting may be of literature. A casting may be caressed lightly. It may be imbued with respect. It may be imbued with love. A casting may be quickly made. It speaks to the world. It speaks to us both. Yes, you are still speaking.

Thank you for your body of work. Thank you for giving me an awareness of your thought. Thank you for giving me an awareness of your soul. Yes, I thank you Stella. I thank you for the risks you took. I thank you for your mastery of abstraction. A figurative abstraction. Yes, a figurative abstraction. Figurative abstraction may be of a painting. Figurative abstraction may be of sculpture. Your sculpture is painterly, each shelf has sightlines, moving from bottom to top while speaking of the history of books, the history of writing, the history of visual language. All language is of your abstract books. All language is of your abstraction. Russian spoken by your grandfather and great-grandfather; English spoken by your own family is of this abstraction.

I first met you Stella when I was 30 years of age. You were the oldest artist with whom I was acquainted. Your paintings or self-portraits were intermingled with your castings. You spoke eloquently. You spoke quietly yet firmly. Yes, you allowed your sculpture to speak. You are still speaking in 2018. I am now 65 years of age. And I am still working. I’m working religiously in the studio creating pure abstractions. I am trying to capture the soulful light of the hayfield that now surrounds my studio, the spiritual expanse of a hayfield without thinking of that when painting. Yes, I’m still working. I am working furiously as I am in my early years of old age. I am not yet a spirit or ghost as you are, Stella, though I sometimes feel like one.

You speak to me Stella. Silently and forcefully. With beauteous fortitude. With beauteous power. With beauteous resilience. The resilience of abstraction. The resilience of light. The resilience of color. The resilience of emotion. Emotive and palpitating are your book shelves. Emotive and palpitating are your works of sculpture. Yes, you are still speaking fifteen years after you became a spirit ghost. Fifteen years resulted in your sculpture being acquired by seventy museums. Yes, you are speaking forcefully in 2018. Thank you, Stella.

Alison